


Sharp Angle

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: im ok just a separated shoulder :) nice game(nba!tatsuya x nhl!shuu)





	Sharp Angle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justlikeswitchblades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/gifts).



> thank u for all of the inspiration!! at a certain point i figured it would be better to make this a fic than try to explain all my hcs for this very particular situation over twitter lmao 
> 
> ....anyway. here's some knicks!tatsuya x devils!shuu (or a tiny tiny piece of that au at least)

By the time Tatsuya gets out of the shower, the press are all surrounding the heroes of tonight’s game, and no one even looks his way. He grabs his phone, scrolling through his texts as he towels his hair off. It’s mostly the same old stuff, congratulations from Alex on the win and a few notes from guys around the league. There’s a couple from Taiga; he’s got a game tonight but it’s on the west coast and so it should be starting pretty soon. The first is a compliment on one of his passes; Tatsuya smiles and scrolls through the rest to the end and then his mouth goes dry.

_Big hit on your boy Nijimura._

Taiga doesn’t even watch hockey; it would have to be big to get on his radar, to be reported on ESPN or show up on his social media feed. Tatsuya scrolls back through his texts; he hasn’t missed anything from Shuu. Their last exchange, before warmups, is just wishing each other good luck the way they always do. Tatsuya doesn’t have anything new from any of Shuu’s teammates (their game’s probably still going). The towel falls off his neck; he doesn’t bend down to pick it up, flicking through his apps to Twitter, frantically scrolling through his feed. Official Knicks stuff, news, cat pictures—there, thread from one of the Devils’ beat writers, something about Shuu.

_Saw another angle of that hit on Nijimura again. Looks like his shoulder got the brunt of the boards, if not all of it. Still waiting for updates, nothing yet since he was taken to the hospital._

It could have been his head; maybe it was; maybe it’s a concussion and maybe it’s bad—even if it’s his shoulder it’s not good. Tatsuya opens up his texts again and sends a quick _u ok?_ Shuu’s way (if it’s his head, maybe he can’t look at the phone screen; maybe it’s too much—and then his response pops up and Tatsuya’s shoulders relax just a little bit).

_im ok just a separated shoulder :) nice game_

Tatsuya’s been around sports long enoug to know injuries; that’s never good and it hurts like fuck from everything he knows about it. Typical Shuu, downplaying the injury with hockey player bullshit when he might need surgery, and even if he doesn't he’ll be out for nearly a month. And yeah, it’s not a concussion or a head thing (hopefully; sometimes they don’t know these things until later) but it’s still bad; he's still hurting and Tatsuya needs to be there, to help (if he can do anything at all for Shuu like this).

He's spacing out; everyone else is close to dressed and Tatsuya needs to get going as soon as he can. He starts pulling things out of his locker, shirt and underwear and pants, half-ready to just not bother with the jacket at all.

 _Where are you?_ , he texts Shuu, buttoning his shirt most of the way with one hand until he feels his phone vibrate.

_st michaels, they’re going to let me go home_

_How long? I’ll pick you up_.

Shuu doesn’t respond until Tatsuya’s dodging the reporters on his way out; it’s half an hour—quicker than the drive to Newark if his car was waiting right outside the arena. But he doesn’t say no, and that’s—Tatsuya’s not sure if it’s good or bad. Can Shuu drive with his shoulder like that? His car’s probably still out at the Rock, but maybe he could get a ride back. Maybe he just wants to spend some time with Tatsuya and assuage his worries, but knowing Shuu he’d do that with a phone call and a promise of a clean bill of health and tell Tatsuya it’s too late to be driving all the way out to Jersey after a game.

People are still spilling out of the arena; Tatsuya cuts in front of a woman in a trench coat to get a cab and gives the driver the cross-streets of the garage (there’s no time to go back home first; he’s got everything he needs). There’s no way around thirty-fourth street; they’re stuck going west and Tatsuya takes out his phone again. It’s a bad idea, but he can’t not watch it for himself. He checks the beat blogs and AATJ; none of them have recaps up yet. He’s not even sure if the game’s over, actually; right now that barely matters. He flips through a gamethread, scrolling past the shitposting and anger, the updates about Shuu being at the hospital, and there it is, “Video of the Klein hit on Nijimura” and fuck. Tatsuya’s stomach clenches; Klein’s not a dirty player but even so Tatsuya wants to punch him in the face for fucking up Shuu like that, in a way he hasn’t even seen yet.

The video starts normally enough, Shuu chasing a loose puck into the boards, making a sudden turn as Klein heads for him, turning at the wrong time and Klein’s shoulder hitting him the back. Shuu topples over; Tatsuya can’t look away as he crashes into the boards what looks like headfirst, landing on his left side and rolling over onto his stomach. The whistle blows; a teammate’s already crouched onto the ice next to Shuu, talking to him; Shuu lifts his head to respond. He rolls over again onto his back, leaning on his right arm to get up into a sitting position. The trainers are rushing over, but Shuu lets his teammate pull him up to his feet, looks around as if to grab his stick, but seeing it as far away as it had landed moves toward the bench instead. He’s skating under his own power (the trainers hover but they aren’t doing shit) and at an almost normal pace, but he steps through the door and keeps going, straight to the locker room, the way he’d only ever do if he’d known something was wrong (at least he hadn’t been too disoriented, or hadn’t seemed that way).

The cab lurches forward, the driver slamming the brakes hard when they’re halfway into the crosswalk. Tatsuya switches back to his texts. There’s nothing new from Shuu. Taiga won’t get his reply until later, but he should know that Shuu’s fine.

Finally (would it have taken less time to walk or take the subway?) they arrive at the garage; Tatsuya pays the driver and he’s almost into the garage by the time the cab door shuts behind him. He nods to the attendant, about to ask for the sedan but then he remembers he needs to re-up on gas and there’s no way he’s taking a detour.

The SUV doesn’t run as smooth, doesn’t make tight turns as well, but Tatsuya’s not really focusing on the quality of the drive right now. He’s got half an ear on the radio, listening for the traffic update—there it is, GWB backed up on both levels but the Lincoln’s fine and that’s a hell of a lot closer anyway. He blows through a few red lights on Riverside since no one’s there to stop him, and if some of the turns he’s taking aren’t strictly legal, it’s not like he doesn’t see worse driving on a day-to-day basis (at least he uses his damn turn signal every time). And even thinking about the road, about other drivers and potential pedestrians and signals and laws, he’s still thinking about Shuu, in pain and maybe alone. (Would they send a trainer? Would the trainer stay?)

Traffic’s clear almost the whole way, a blessing; he reaches the hospital entrance and he can see Shuu right away. He’s in street clothes, his left arm in a sling, standing next to someone in a Devils jacket Tatsuya can only assume is a trainer or assistant of some sort. Tatsuya rolls down the window.

“That’s my ride,” says Shuu.

“Get home safe,” the trainer says. “And remember to come back tomorrow morning for evaluation.”

Shuu flashes her the thumbs up. Tatsuya leans over and opens the door for him.

“Need help getting up?”

“Nah, I’m good,” says Shuu, maneuvering himself in using only his right arm and shutting the door behind him.

There’s no one behind them waiting; the trainer’s on the phone (probably setting up her own ride). They have time here, for Tatsuya to get a good look at Shuu. His head is fine, no apparent bruises or bumps; his eyes are sharp (even if the bags underneath are pronounced in the semidarkness of the car). He can get a better look at Shuu’s arm and shoulder when they’re back, but for now it’s okay (okay enough that he doesn’t want to fuck up Klein’s face every time he thinks about the hit).

“How’s your head feel?” Tatsuya says, shifting the car out of park.

“Fine,” says Shuu. “I didn’t hit it at all.”

“Looked like you did,” says Tatsuya.

“Shitty angle,” says Shuu. “Shoulder got there first and took it all.”

Tatsuya shifts gears as they merge into what bits of traffic there are right now, and a few seconds later Shuu’s reached out with his right hand to cover Tatsuya’s on the gearshift. Tatsuya wishes he could flip his palm and hold Shuu’s hand. At least he doesn’t live too far away.

“Why’d you take the SUV?” says Shuu as they walk up to his front porch.

“Sedan was out of gas,” says Tatsuya. “Didn’t feel like stopping.”

It’s enough of the truth for Shuu to get all of it (but Shuu would have gotten all of it even if he’d lied). His eyes are soft when he looks back at Tatsuya, the only sounds from distant traffic and the humming of a few bugs hovering by the porch light. Shuu leans down to press his lips to Tatsuya’s, quick and soft, killing (or at least suspending indefinitely) Tatsuya’s concern, turning it into something a little bit brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> idk which hospital the devils use if players get hurt ingame (for some reason i was thinking montclair but a quick google search revealed nothing so i just chose sth closer to the rock lmao)
> 
> im getting more and more self-indulgent i ain't even mad this is so much fun


End file.
